


Simon Snow and the Seventh Oak

by Magicalmaladies



Category: Fangirl - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow series - Gemma T. Leslie
Genre: Fluff and Angst, I swear I'll try my best, M/M, My First Fanfic, My OTP, So SnowBaz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-01-20 14:23:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1513724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magicalmaladies/pseuds/Magicalmaladies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's seventh year at Watford and many adventures and surprises- both magical and romantic- are in store for Simon and Baz.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Years of Denial- Baz's POV

**Author's Note:**

> I'll try to update regularly but this teensy thing called balancing a job, school, and more tends to distract me a bit. Also, I'm kind of slow at writing but I promise I won't give up. I know how this all ends in my head, it's just a matter of getting there! I hope Rainbow's fans will enjoy as we wait for the promised day of a Simon Snow novel to arrive.

Baz glared down at his Potions homework. The same confounded problem remained to be answered. _Aleister almighty,_ he thought,  _how am I supposed to know the ratio of slugs to cockatrice feathers in a triple whammy?_ He always mixed them up with his hexes... He really hadn't been expecting seventh year to be so difficult. Between advanced spell casting and Level IV self-defense his nerves were shot. 

Crowley, he needed a break. Baz flung his arms out and accidentally knocked over a pile of Simon's notes.  _Bloody hell, the boy leaves his stuff everywhere._ Just as he bent over to retrieve the papers, the door opened with a sharp crack to reveal the one and only Simon Snow. 

"Hey, Baz. Sorry to bother you but rugby practice was cut short and I-" he trailed off catching sight of the disheveled mess of his school work covering the floor like the long dead leaves on the school grounds.

"What are you doing with my notes?" Simon demanded.

"Clearly very diabolical things like cheating, studying your handwriting to perfect forging your signature or-" *mock gasp here*- "just picking up what I knocked over." Simon gave him a disapproving glare and told him that he would much rather Baz didn't touch his belongings at all.

_Well,_ thought Baz,  _that is much easier said than done seeing how you take up almost as much physical space as you do mental space._ Simon happened to be the golden boy of Watford, the school for magicians that they both attended, and he could do no wrong in the eyes of everyone but Baz. Ever since the first day they had met, there was something about Simon that struck him as funny. (Not funny haha because Simon could be hilarious in his own goofy, adorable way but funny... odd. That was a better term.) An almost instant connection to him had sprung up in Baz and for that he hated his roommate. Hated the fact that he wanted- no, needed- to be a part of Simon's life so badly that it hurt to breathe to think otherwise.  _Pitches didn't need others, others needed Pitches to survive,_ a part of his upbringing seemed to whisper.  _Weak..._  

But Baz was perfectly aware of the real reason he hated Simon. It wasn't jealousy or bitterness or even misplaced anger. It was- dare he say it?- love. It always had been. All those years of lashing out at his roommate, of keeping a cold, unbreachable distance between them, had been because he didn't know how- or even where- to begin dealing with his feelings. But that didn't matter. Because Simon would never return his feelings.

Right?


	2. Evolution- Simon's POV

Simon had been back for over an hour now and he, like Baz, was trying to get some school work done. He was supposed to be writing an essay on the impact that Ezra Myers (a rather obscure magician from the 1800s) had had on the world of mages but his mind kept wandering. With a grin, he remembered that mornings Castings class.

Baz had been re-enacting the time during first year when Simon hadn't realized that his wand was pointing backwards and accidentally cast a spell on himself. Luckily, they hadn't been studying anything dangerous or deadly but a "Rhymes with Orange" spell could be mighty embarrassing. Not to mention exhausting. His teacher had refused to take the spell off in order for "everyone to learn from Simon's mistake." For the rest of the day, people kept approaching him to hear him spout his poetry. The urge to rhyme had been irresistible...

Simon had begun blushing furiously at the mention of this memory and, to his dismay, it only seemed to further encourage Baz. Fortunately (Or unfortunately. It really depended on how you looked at it.), his dear friend Penelope Bunce had always been protective of the people she cared about. She had strode right over to Baz and proceeded to tell him off. "Stop it, Basilton!" She had yelled flushing such a scarlet shade that it matched her hair. "You're nothing but a sick monster! Why do you have to suck the life out of others?" At that remark, the color drained out of Baz's already pale face. Surprise and triumph struggled for control inside of Simon but before he could do so much as blink an eye, Baz's features smoothed over and he had regained his slick composure. "Why Penelope, dear" he crooned, "You're always welcome to suck my-" he had broken off as their teacher came in to start class but that didn't stop anyone from grasping what Baz had implied. 

Simon involuntarily looked across the room at the other boy. The bane of his existence had his lean frame curled over a workbook and even though Baz's head was tilted forward so that his long, dark hair partially obscured his face, Simon could still make out an expression of muddled concentration scrunching his elegant features. Almost as if he could sense Simon staring, Baz stiffened and glanced up at him with storm-gray eyes.

"What?" he sneered. "Am I breathing too heavily for you?"

"What!? I, no..."  stammered Simon. He felt his face heat up and looked away in embarrassment.  _Shoot. Why was he so bad at comebacks?_  

Baz was looking at him through narrowed eyes. "Uh huh. Well you can just keep your little agenda to yourself; I, on the other hand, am leaving." Snapping his book shut with a fluid motion, he proceeded to adjust his school-issued tie with one hand while grabbing his green Watford jacket with the other.

"Does my mere presence bother you that much?" Simon said in an only half condescending tone.

"All the way down to the molecular level, Snow." Baz replied with a smile that revealed he was only kidding.

His way with words made Simon jealous. Baz happened to be very smart but it wasn't only what he said, but the way that he said it that intrigued Simon. From carefully crafted insults and moody outbursts to humorous insights and rare compliments,every conversation was a dance; complicated but beautiful. 

"Hey, Baz?" Simon called out, halting him in the middle if tying his shoelaces. "Do you remember how much we used to hate each other?" 

Baz quirked an eyebrow and plopped back onto his bed. "Hate is such a strong word. And I don't recall it that way."

"You used to sit up in Finnigan's tree and throw apples at me!"

"Petty teasing. I was immature then." A twinkle lit Baz's eyes. "Besides, I only threw the soft ones."

"You mean the rotten ones!"

"I wasn't the persistent little devil who continued to walk under a tree where someone lobbed apples at me." 

Simon met Baz's gaze. A grin split his face. And then the room was filled with the sound of their laughter, echoing off the walls and straight into his heart. He liked it best this way, having fun like proper mates should; not going for each other's throats with wands and fists flying.

And Simon was grateful that they didn't detest each other anymore.


	3. Ruminations- Baz's POV

A full twenty minutes later, Baz finally left. He didn't have anywhere in particular to be except to be alone. His footfalls on the flagged stone floor seemed far to loud in the dim corridor as he made his way to the library. It was now late afternoon. He had meant to leave earlier but circumstances of the Simon-ous nature had prevented otherwise. Granted, these situations were popping up with an increasing frequency and- Baz had to stop and remind himself- they were a good thing even if they sometimes did make him want to take a flying leap into the moat. Well nothing _quite_ that drastic...

He quickened his pace as he walked down a winding staircase, past the portraits of previous Mages and past the granite statue of Thomas Edison (he wasn't called the Wizard of Menlo Park for nothing) until finally, the large oak doors loomed in front of him. With an audible sigh of relief, he pulled them open.

Inside revealed a massive room at least two stories high. Yet even for its size, there was a warm and inviting glow about it. Everything from the soft, golden lights to the interspersed armchairs radiated quite reflection. But the best part of all were the books. The rows of shelves made a winding maze that often rearranged itself and could be quite confusing until you learned the trick to it.

Baz hurried up the stairs to the second level and straight towards a hidden alcolve. Inside was an ornate window with a plush window seat. It was one of his all-time favorite places to be at Watford when he wanted to be alone. The only possible thing that could make it better would be apples. But alas, no food in the library. (Mrs. Calbert said that the books got jealous.) He curled up next to the window with a battered copy of _Great Expectations_ and started to read. 

Or at least he tried to. He stumbled through the first few chapters, his mind in and out of focus, before finally giving up and placing the book away. He leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes. His last thought before falling asleep was that Simon's blue eyes always reminded him of a vast, infinite ocean...

Baz woke up with a jerk from a dream in which he was drowning in an endless blue sea and the harder he fought to reach the surface, the deeper he sank. He blinked rapidly, wondering if the dream had been a sign, and the world came back into focus.

Looking out the window, he saw that it was twilight. This short span of time- when the sun was dimming and the world seemed lit from within by a strange gray light- was when Baz always felt the most _alive_. He supposed it could just be the vampire in him talking, but he secretly loved gloomy days when the sun didn't dare to show it's face.

The library window faced an inner courtyard that everyone called "The Common." The sight below showed many trees in the last splendors of fall and even more people milling about drinking cider, betting on (mostly) friendly duels and getting into mischief as they enjoyed the remaining decent weather. There were only so many days that Watford could wake up to a frost but have it melt away by midday. Sooner or later, it was bound to stick around and be joined by snow.

It was nearing the end of November and he, along with every other seventh year, knew what that meant. The hounding by the administration to figure out what they wanted to do with the rest of their lives was only going to increase. Constantly bombarding them with questions and advice, the students felt like they were under siege by an intimidating gang of well-meaning busy bodies. (Was Baz going to continue his education at any one of England's fine Universities of Magic? Or perhaps he was going to take some time off, travel the world and explore his options. Had he thought about joining the Mage's Guard, an elite group of magicians who fought against evil and Kaos magic all while keeping humans blissfully unaware of the exsistence of magic?) On and on the prodding and prying went until Baz wanted to scream at them to bloody well stop already, how was he supposed to know?

He was well aware that he was smart and could probably do anything he set his mind to, but the only future that concerned him was one with Simon in it. (Preferably one in which Simon returned his feelings but its not like he could tell any of his teachers that.) Baz knew he was incredibly lucky to have gotten Simon as a roommate and lab partner all these years. However, it had dawned on him that once they graduated, they would be going their separate ways and a random act of fate to set them down the same path once more probably wouldn't occur again. The thought of never getting to beat Simon at cards again, never getting to tease him until his cheeks turned that adorable apple red again and never having another conversation with him ever again made an uncomfortable, prickly feeling churn in Baz's stomach. He wanted to wake up every day to Simon's sleeping face snuggled up next to his and go to bed every night with him wrapped in his arms. _Ah Snow,_ he thought miserably,  _what have you done to me?_

Night must have crept in when he wasn't looking because the view outside offered him an inky black sky scattered with stars. If only he could wish on one of them for a solution to his problems.  _If wishes were horses-_ Baz started to think but cut himself off right there. No. Absolutely not. He would tell Simon the old fashioned way or not at all.

He stood up and started to head back to his room. Correction. The kitchen first; after all he had missed dinner, then to his room. But some things for certain were that he couldn't keep living this way for much longer. (He suspected he might go mad after too long.) He would eventually have to clue Simon in. However, there was no need to surprise the boy into cardiac arrest. He could start with small hints, build his trust and when the timing was right...just let it all out. With that small comfort in mind, Baz left the library feeling lighter than he had in weeks.

He had made it about halfway to the kitchens when a terrible revelation caused him to halt dead in his tracks. _He still hadn't told Simon he was a vampire!_ Well, that certainly threw a wrench in his plans. He wondered if Simon would faint learning that his roommate who had the hots for him was also a member of the Undead. Not likely, but it was probably for the best if he didn't shock Simon with that all at once. The only question left was which secret he should tell him first. Although, Baz had had plenty of ponderings for one night and decided that some questions were best left unanswered. So with that settled, he resumed his course towards his dinner and chose to let fate deal the next hand.

   


	4. Misgivings- Simon's POV

Simon was at his desk reading an article on the Rusalka, mildly dangerous water spirits who had been murdered in their mortal lives, for his class "Magical Creatures Around the World." The tale was quite basic; Rusalka normally appeared as women who liked to drown men but if you wore fern in your hair, they wouldn't try to escort you to an early grave. Oh- and they could only 'die' if their hair dried out. _Ridiculous,_ he thought shutting down his laptop, _I can't give a ten minute presentation on evil beings who can be_ _defeated by a hair dryer! Everyone will think that I made it up._

Simon wondered what Baz was going to pick for his topic. It would probably be something morbid and chilling like the Banshee. Something their classmates would find either extremely cool or creepy. But Simon couldn't ask Baz anything because he hadn't seen him since he had left their room over five hours ago.

He hadn't been very concerned because Baz could definitely take care himself (Houdini himself probably knew this to be true) but when he missed dinner altogether, Simon started to get worried. So he piled a plate full of corned beef, potatoes and Yorkshire pudding and brought it back to their room. Right now though, Simon was seriously regretting it. The meal sat stone cold next to his laptop and rather pitifully, too. Baz would probably take one look at it and tell Simon that he could take his good intentions and choke on them.

He had just turned off the lights and climbed into bed when the door opened and closed with a soft click. A moment later, their shared desk lamp illuminated a sheepish looking Baz.

"Where have you been?" Simon said sounding far more concerned than he meant to.

Baz passed a hand over his face and grimaced. "You won't believe it but I fell asleep."

"For five whole hours? In the afternoon?"

"More like three. Give or take a few minutes. Hey," he said catching the look on Simon's face, "I did go to the kitchen and grab a bite to eat, you know."

"Oh." Now Simon really felt foolish. "I guess you won't be needing this then." He gestured towards the dinner.

Baz's eyes followed his hand to the plate of food. He blinked and a look that Simon couldn't decipher crossed his face but was gone just as quickly as it had appeared. He picked up the dish with his left hand and his wand with the other. _Oh gods above us,_ _here it comes._ Simon braced himself.

But instead of insulting him, Baz simply tapped his wand to the food and blue flames engulfed it. Simon gave a startled yelp. If Baz didn't want it, he could just throw it out. There was no need to burn the dinner!

"Just warming it up, Snow. Don't be such a pansy." With another tap of his wand, the fire was extinguished. He grabbed a fork out of his nightstand and started in on the potatoes.

"This is much better. Crackers and cheese just doesn't cut it for dinner."

"You're welcome," Simon muttered and crawled back under his covers. A little bit later, he heard the sound of cutlery scraping ceramic and the clatter of a plate being set on the desk. Then the lamp went out, plunging the room into darkness once more. Just when the wispy beginnings of a dream were starting to drag him to sleep, he heard a tiny voice whisper two words that he wouldn't remember in the morning- "Thank you."


	5. Contemplations- Baz's POV

Monday morning dawned bright and cheerful which was the very worst kind of Monday in Baz's opinion. Holding up a hand to block the offending rays of sunshine that were streaming in through the gap in the drapes, he rolled out of bed to wake Simon. Because honestly, if he didn't, Simon would probably sleep clear through breakfast and maybe their first classes, too.

He dressed quickly and silently and then walked over to Simon's bed. Simon was curled up on his side with his face pressed into his arm. His mouth was open, his golden-bronze hair was a disheveled mess and yes, that was definitely drool on his chin, but he had never looked quite so beautiful to Baz. Simon gave a little gasp (nothing to be alarmed by; he was always sighing or murmuring in his sleep) and turned over to face the wall.

"Not today, Snow!" he called out and reached over to shake the boy's shoulder. "Get up you silly git, or we're going to be late."

Simon disentangled himself from the bed sheets and sat up rubbing his eyes. "What I wouldn't give for ten more minutes..." he yawned.

"Well you're _going_ to end up missing out on strawberry crepes if you don't get a move on!" Baz retorted.

"I'm going, I'm going. See?" he mumbled pulling on his gray trousers and white button-down shirt.

"Really, Snow," Baz tutted "If it wasn't for me, how would you even get up in the mornings?"

Simon finished getting ready and then they both grabbed their wands and books for that morning’s classes and headed out the door.

"Well," said Simon "I could buy an alarm clock for starters."

"Ha! The dead could rise and you'd be none the wiser!"

In ten minutes they had reached the landing before the stairs that lead to the main floor. By this point, the rest of Watford was also hurrying along to start their day. The way down was packed with students clamoring to be the first into the Dining Room. Baz was contemplating whether or not to ask Simon to sit with him when a familiar head of red curls materialized. "Simon!" Penelope squealed from across the room and then came barreling into him with all the force her tiny frame could muster. Grinning, Simon caught her in a bear hug. "Good morning to you too, Penny." he chuckled.

She stepped back and then, noticing Baz, her energy abruptly faded.

"Hello, Penelope." he said inclining his head in a gentlemanly gesture.

"Basilton." she replied curtly, eyeing him like he was a particularly filthy rodent.

"I take it yesterday's events have not been forgotten?"

"Not even forgiven, you pig." And with a toss of her head she pulled Simon off towards the opened Dining Room.

Baz followed suite, mentally cursing his luck as he helped himself to breakfast. It was quite easy to forget that Simon had loads of friends (although more like followers if you asked him) when they were so often alone together. He spotted an empty table and claimed it. His friends Dev and Niall, along with Niall's girlfriend, Cordelia Cragfoot, attempted to join him but he shook his head to indicate that he was in no mood for company. Shrugging, they slouched off to find another spot without so much as a glance backwards. 

That was precisely what he liked best about those two; they understood that Baz was simply not a "people person", no questions asked. If he was going to spend a week surrounded by insufferable prats (or what others referred to as classmates), then by Merlin, he could at least spend _some_ time alone before the aforementioned torture. However, it seemed that the universe was conspiring against a quality prat-free breakfast. Walking to the front of the room was the Mage, a stout fellow with thinning brown hair and a short beard that emphasized his overall drab appearance. A hush fell over the crowd; the Mage hardly ever graced Watford with his presence at such a mundane event as breakfast, so whatever he had to say would probably be of the utmost importance. Although, in Baz's opinion, that wasn't bloody well likely.  _  
_

"Gather round, one and all," he delivered to a sea of upturned faces that hung upon his every word, "I have come to deliver a message of the greatest urgency. A message that pertains to each and every soul about me. The fate of our school may very well balance upon your shoulders when you have received it."

Baz didn't bother to suppress rolling his eyes. Everything about the Mage disgusted him. His pitiful cowardly nature, his quivering jowls, his dramatic theatrics and even the way he ate his porridge made Baz's blood boil. He didn't like that man; he didn't trust that man. He was a tyrant under the guise of a hero, or in Simon's case, a mentor.

The Mage continued on. "I won't sugar-coat anything for you and it's time you knew the truth. The world of mages is facing it's darkest hour yet from a foe who threatens to wipe away all magic from the face of this planet. He won't rest until each of us are weak and empty, drained of the ancient powers that run through our veins. The rumor mill can grind to a halt, it's true, the Insidious Humdrum has indeed attacked Gideon Fletch, a member of the board of Magical Monitoring, and he has been in a coma for the past several weeks."

Several of the students gasped and exchanged wary looks.

"My sources can confirm that the Humdrum is stronger than ever."

_Thank you, Captain Obvious, but there is no one in this room who knows that better than Simon and I,_  thought Baz resentfully. The Humdrum was an evil being who wanted to rid the world of magic. Nobody knew who, or what, he was but he seemed to have a personal vendetta against Simon. He had almost succeeded in killing him back in fourth year. It was inconceivable to Baz that it had been over three years and not an inch of headway had been made in bringing the Humdrum down. But how could the world of magic progress when it left it's biggest problem for the Mage to handle? Not to mention the fact that the only 'action' he took was to sit safely behind the Watford castle walls- no, the Mage had to go and burden Simon, a mere child in his second year of school, with the battle, too. It was downright preposterous that a grown magician, supposedly the most powerful in the world, had to rely on a student to solve a catastrope when it was reported that he had  realms of magic at his very fingertips.

"Don't despair! Mr. Fletch is expected to make a full recovery. And as for the Humdrum-" the Mage paused and a maniacal grin spread across his face "-well, he can't possibly harm you here. It is Watford after all." He gave a bark of laughter as if the idea of the Humdrum even placing a toe over their threshold was ludicrous. "Your breakfast awaits and I shan't keep you any more. Study hard and learn lots, until your brain is right and sore!" The Mage clapped his hands and gave a jaunty little wave as he left the room, not a single conversation resuming until the door had shut firmly behind him.

Days of old, how Baz hated those silly little rhymes. It was like they were toddlers being subjected to the nonsensical drivel that permeates childhood once more. You could add that to his admittedly quite long anti-Mage list. 

Baz didn't join the rest of the school in the queue to get breakfast; he had lost what little appetite he possessed. Strawberry crepes be damned, there was just to much to think about. For instance, why on earth had their headmaster found it necessary to tell them that some old guy was taking an extra long nap? Also, there hadn't been any rumors about the Humdrum going around the school but _now_ there were bound to be. And how did 'the fate of the school rest upon their shoulders' now that they had heard that message?

It just wasn't making sense, he had to be missing something. The high and mighty Mage didn't just descend from Mount Olympus to give his jolly regards to the common folk; there had to be a deeper meaning, a hidden connection, in his announcement. Or maybe the Mage was just creating a glorified spectacle of sorts, a way to bask in some lime light again because Crowley knows two drama free months was too much to ask for around here. There was no further use in ruminations; concentration was playing keep away and it was winning ten to one. Baz was so tired and so hungry- well, thirsty for lack of a better term- that he could practically feel another headache blossoming just behind his left eye. He was going to have to hunt sooner or later. His throat began burning fiercely at the thought of blood and perhaps sooner would be the safest option for everybody. Well, everybody that is except for those poor rats. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sorry this took so long to get finished but I just wasn't happy with it. I'm still not sure if I am but I think it's time to move on before I drive myself crazy. If some of you could let me know what you think of this chapter, it would be much appreciated. Thanks :)


	6. Broken Connections- Simon's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey dear readers, I am going on vacation for awhile and I won't have Internet access until I return, so there won't be a new post up until some time in July. Hopefully July. I just wanted to get this up for everyone before I left and wanted to let you all know that I'm not dropping off the face of the Earth or anything. I love you all very much and I hope my story can make at least one persons day a little bit brighter. :)

"I just don't understand why he has to be so...so..." Penelope trailed off leaving the clicks of her knitting needles to finish her sentence.

"Hostile?" suggested a light, tinkling voice.

"Exactly."

"I bet," the feminine voice dropped to a whisper, "he suffers from depression."

Penelope scoffed. "I bet he was dropped on his head as a baby."

Simon rolled his eyes. School had been over for a while and dinner had come and gone. Simon had done his report on poltergeists and Baz had done an in-depth analysis of the accuracy of Grecian mythological characters to modern day creatures. Show off. Sensing his upset, his friends had invited him to relax in their usual secluded sitting room. Pen was knitting scarves for the winter, one of her favorite pastimes, and this particular one was a blinding shade of pink. He couldn't help but think that it was going to clash horrifically with her hair. The musical voice belonged to none other than Agatha Wellbelove. Agatha was their- well, it was complicated. She was their friend, he supposed, but at the same time, so much more and so much less to Simon.

Agatha was undeniably the most beautiful witch at Watford and Simon loved her. But Baz loved her too, or had loved her. And Agatha loved Simon, or maybe it was Baz, and maybe that was all the problem because maybe it _just didn't matter_ to Simon anymore. But he really wished they would stop talking about Baz. It was making him uncomfortable.

"I bet," said Simon interrupting the two girls' steady stream of speculations, "that Baz only acts like a jerk, because you expect him to act like one. So Penny, my advice to you is that if he bothers you so much, ignore him. The dramatic git is only looking for a reaction. Solution: _don't give him one."_

Penelope's mouth hung open but he barely registered her shocked look before rounding on Agatha. "Listen to me, Agatha. I know you like Baz and it's probably bollocks that he has decided that he's no longer interested in you, but it's your own fault! You left us both hanging for years, and while I'm glad we managed to sort through our rift, maybe he can't handle the 'let's just be friends' bit. You know, a clean break heals easier..." Agatha's eyes were filling with tears that threatened to spill over at the slightest blink. Simon continued on in a softer tone. "Sorry, Aggie. Just leave Baz alone, okay? He's fine. I am his roommate, you know."

She was staring at him with undisclosed hurt and Simon felt more than a tad ashamed of his outburst. He had ended their on-again off-again relationship at the beginning of September because it was unhealthy. He hadn't loved her, _really_ loved her, since they were fifteen, and it would have been cruel to keep pretending otherwise. But a week later, Baz cut ties off with Agatha as well and at least Simon was still _talking_ to her because Baz wouldn't even acknowledge she existed, let alone give her a reason for breaking up with her. Actually, that was probably why Agatha was now shedding hot tears and glaring at him. He had to open his big mouth and remind her that nothing could put the pieces of her shattered world back together again.

"Simon!" she sniffed, "Why are you defending him? You have more reason than anyone at this school to hate him. He tried to kill you before! I remember the good old days when you used to analyze his every move, lament every insult, criticize his very being-"

"Stop!" shouted Pen so violently that she dropped her needle work. "Don't you see?  _It's happening._ "

"What's happening?" Simon was utterly bewildered.

The girls shared a look; the kind that spoke volumes and made him feel small and alone again, the only child at the orphanage left out of another elusive secret. Penelope leaned forward and whispered something into Agatha's ear. The latter slowly turned her head and gazed at him. After a few uncomfortable moments of scrutinizing, a look of understanding awakened on her delicate face.

"Oh my," she murmured, "it is happening."

"That's right. And I have to add that it's about damn time, too." Penelope said punctuating the proclamation with an exasperated little huff.

Simon didn't have the foggiest notion of what they were talking about. But when he asked them to explain or at least give him a hint for Crowley's sake, Penelope simply shook her head and said that he needed to figure it out on his own. Agatha winked and added that 'happiness is about the journey, not the destination and Simon shouldn't rush his journey' or something along those cryptic lines. A deafening clanging shook through the castle making them all jump, which signified that the clock had struck twelve and curfew was about to go into effect. Penelope rushed to pack away her knitting supplies while Agatha and Simon waited anxiously. If they were caught by Sir Bleakly, they could be stuck in detention for a week.

They all tore out of the room at a dead sprint. If luck was on their side, they should make it back in time. Thankfully, Simon knew the castle's shortcuts like the back of his hand. He ought to, really, after all the misadventures he had been on. They went thundering through the halls, the scenery blurred, expecting to be caught at any possible moment. Simon could hear his own breath panting loudly with panic, he could see Agatha clutching at a stitch in her side when he glanced behind him and he could see Penelope's coppery ringlets flying out of the corner of his eye. They were almost there now; just one more set of stairs left to climb. He couldn't believe that he hadn't noticed how late it had been getting; he must have just gotten so caught up in defending Baz that it had obliterated anything lesser from his mind.

With great relief, they stumbled into the circular den that served as a central hangout for all the students. It was a large room with no windows to allow anything but the dancing blue flames of torches to light it. It didn't contain much save for a mess of coffee tables and chairs haphazardly distributed throughout. Simon had never cared much for this chamber because nothing was _ever_ private in here; that's why he and Penny preferred the sitting room. During the day, the den was always filled with hungry eyes and intrusive questions. But nonetheless, he couldn't help but revel in the blessed sanctuary it currently provided. No one could catch them outside of curfew when the doors to their quarters lay just across from them. They were safe. _Home free baby,_ and Simon couldn't suppress the bubble of laughter rising in his chest from the sheer recklessness of it all.

Agatha looked over at him, not a single strand of silvery hair out of place, which should be impossible after all that bloodied frantic fleeing, and whispered, "All's well that ends well, as they say." Then she sauntered through the door on the right that led to the girls' dormitories and was gone. Simon glanced over at Penelope who gave him a dutifully bashful look in return.

"You didn't, did you?" he asked imploringly.

"Well, all the best magicians say that it is far better to be safe than sorry and I am not sorry that we're safe." Pen's tone might have suggested haughty superiority but her eyes were pleading with him to agree with her.

Poor Penelope. Always so worried. He now knew that she had cast the _All's well that ends well_ spell that had led to their safe arrival. It wasn't like they really needed it, they were only breaking curfew, not being chased by a venomous crested woodfoul, but still, you couldn't ever be truly certain of an outcome and she had only overreacted out of the goodness of her heart...Simon reached out a hand and grabbed Penny's, stopping her from twisting her purple ring repeatedly around her finger (a nervous habit that she had possesed for as long as he had known her which was a very long time), and gave it a warm squeeze.

"It's okay, Penny. You made the right decision and besides- _you're_ the best magician I know."

He meant it, he really truly did, but Pen pulled a face that said she didn't believe him, and he knew she'd gone to that place in her head where the door was shut tight against all visitors. He'd long given up hope that he could ever pick that lock. Most of the time, whatever unseen force that was bothering her would be gone by the next day.  _Most of the time._

They bid each other goodnight and Simon was halfway through his own door, when a choked sob caused him to pause. So it was one of _those_ times. Sometimes your best bet to snap her out of it was to irritate her. According to certain sources (with the primary one being Baz), he was apparently well suited to the fine art of annoyance.

"You know, if you want to make it up to me that badly, you could at least tell me what _it_ is."

"What _what_ is?" He could practically see the anxiety grind to a halt behind Pen's eyes.

"Whatever you and Agatha were discussing earlier." She feigned cluelessness and he shot her a pointed look. "Don't pretend like you don't know exactly what I'm talking about." Simon took a deep breath, summoned up the strength to keep a straight face, and proceeded in the breathiest falsetto he could muster. "Jane Austen's doilies, Agatha! _It is happening!_ But we mustn't let Simon in on what exactly _it_ is, so let's refer to it in near hysterics sprinkled with numerous round-about terms. Because," Simon slipped back into his own voice, "you know, that won't make him really want to figure out what we're talking about or anything."

Penelope looked completely taken aback.

"I don't sound like that," she said.

"Nope, not at all. Now let me know what's supposedly happening to me."

"I can't, Simon. Don't you get it? This is something that you have to figure out for yourself."

Simon reached over and tugged on one of her curls just because he knew she hated that. She swatted his hand away as expected.

"C'mon, Pen. How 'bout a clue to point me down the right path," he begged with just the right touch of whine to his voice. "Help an old friend out." He gave her a classic puppy dog face to seal the deal.

"Do I have to spell it into your brain!? No means NO!"

Simon turned his look up to full force. Even batted his eyelashes a bit. Dared her not to break her rock-solid resolve.

"That's not going to work this time. I know what you're doing and I refuse to let it affect me. I'm going to bed now because some of us believe in being alert during the school day, but I will grant you one tidbit to sedate your voracious appetite for everything that is not your business. Pay attention now: _it_ occurs where you least expect it to."

With a self indulgent smirk that implied she was well aware that Simon's slack jawed sputterings were a vocalization of his displeasure with her 'tidbit', she left for her room. Simon headed towards his in a fog. It was just like Penny. Her comment revealed nothing. As a matter of fact, it added to his befuddlement, just like this whole blasted evening.

Sometimes it was entirely frustrating when one's best friends were girls.

 

 

 


	7. Renewal- Baz's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The headcanon that Baz hunts rats in the catacombs belongs to rhien. I thought it was extremely clever and I hope she doesn't mind that I used it. If you're reading this rhien, this chapter is for you, lovely!

There wasn't a chance in hell Baz was going to sleep tonight. Not when he was so charged with stolen energy. Not when he had been finally replenished by the blood of less fortunate creatures.

He had just gotten back from hunting vermin in the dusty catacombs that snaked beneath the school. Which probably sounded disgusting and pathetic even to other vampires, but that's because it was. It's not like he couldn't go to the Forbidden Forest and take down far bigger prey that would leave him satisfied for considerably longer periods of time; the problem was that he wouldn't. By keeping the victims small, it almost seemed like less of a big deal. And by taking members of a species with a population so out of control 'into the great beyond', he could sometimes convince himself that he was doing people a favor, like spiders keeping the planet from being overrun by insects. But it was a psychological ploy that barely carried him through what was necessary to his own survival. In the end, a life ended was still an existence cut short with Baz held responsible, whether it be the despicable animals that fueled his life source or the humans he wouldn't dare to touch.

He groaned as he peeled off his grimy shirt that was stained with equal parts blood and sweat. If only today's tween girls knew the grisly behind-the-scenes details that being a vampire really entailed, then perhaps they would quit idolizing parasites. Because that's what he was when you came down to it; nothing but a glorified leech. Tossing the rest of his gore spattered clothes in a heap on the floor (he'd take care of them before Simon woke tomorrow morning), he searched through their shared dresser for his pajamas but only managed to find the bottoms. He _knew_ he had put his shirt back like he did every day because he and Simon were polar opposites when it came to neatness. He was the picture of tidiness while that boy could be the poster child for clutter. Baz wasn't a neat freak despite Snow's vehement claims, it was just that he liked things orderly. A place for everything and everything in its place. A method to the madness.

Okay, fine. He was a neat freak. So what. It wasn't exactly an ideal match for roommate compatibility but they coexisted. In the grand scheme of things, conflicting organizational tendencies only minimally increased aggression and homicidal urges. He and Simon were usually pretty decent at escalating tension all on their own. Or at least they used to be. They hadn't had a good fist fight in quite a long time. Which signified progress and Baz would take his victories where he could.

Goosebumps rose on his arms and it wasn't just from a lack of attire. The castle was old and winter fast approaching; already their room was permeated by a chill usually reserved for late December. He shivered and racked his memory for where he had placed his shirt but to no avail. Chances were Simon might have taken it by mistake when he had gone to do a load of laundry before dinner. In the meantime, Baz put on an old jumper to sleep in and resolved to ask Snow whenever he got back from doing Crowley knows what with his female accomplices. Probably planning their next good deeds or heroic sacrifices to impress the Mage with.

He settled in with _Great Expectations_ and attempted to make some more progress to keep his thoughts off of a certain boy. It seemed that he was destined for distraction with this novel however; his reflections kept returning to poor Gideon Fletch instead. Why would the Humdrum bother with this nobody, albeit a nobody in high up places? Baz had a nagging suspicion that it had something to do with Simon. With each previous year at Watford as an indicator, it seemed too much to hope that this one might be free of attempts to take the life of the Mage's heir. He dismissed worries of paranoia; his lifestyle had taught him that gut instincts were to be trusted. Perhaps it was time that he go up to the library and do some research on Mr. Fletch.

He read until the buzz in his veins had faded to a dull roar, ceasing only when the bell for curfew rang, startling him and signaling that Simon was now officially overdue. Not that Simon, or himself for that matter, paid mind to anything as restrictive as a _bedtime_. They both disregarded rules on a whim but usually only when they were in the midst of a mystery or mishap of some sorts. Baz hoped against hope to all the powers that cared, that Simon's lateness was only a fluke and not a repeat of last years' events. No more psychotic killer animals of any sort for him, thank you very much. A normal, quiet year would be very welcome on both their behalves.

A quarter after twelve and Baz was just starting to get to Ms. Havisham and her tattered wedding dress, when he heard footsteps outside the door. Simon entered looking rattled with his focus elsewhere. He crossed the room in a haze and sat down on his bed. He began to take his tie off but his eyes were drawn inward and his face was flushed. A flush, not a blush, and damned if it wasn't just a bit sad that Baz could tell the difference. Those blue eyes rose to meet grey ones like they were drawn by a magnet, and Baz's heart gave a funny little twist.

"Why so late, Snow?" he inquired.

"Umm, well I was with Penelope and Agatha and we... just lost track of time I suppose." He played off his hesitation with earnesty but Baz could tell that Simon was reluctant to divulge the real story.

"That's not surprising given your skills in the observation department but what, pray tell, were you doing?"

"Just...stuff. You know, talking and such."

_Aleister almighty, did Simon really think he was that gullible?_ The boys' face practically came with closed captioning. Not to mention that he put a slight lilt to his voice when he was evading the truth. Really, it was just too easy sometimes.

Baz pretended to play along. "Intriguing. Do tell, I can hardly stand the suspense."

Simon seemed to miss the heavily laced sarcasm though. He shifted awkwardly and bit his lip, his eyes darting to the side. He didn't make an effort to humor Baz and the silence was growing uncomfortable.

"Oh, I see. Yours truly was tonight's topic, was I not?" Baz said softly like he was actually hurt. As if he possibly cared about the trivial opinions of those two women. But it was part of the game and Simon would inevitably play right into his hands. He almost always did.

A fire sprang to life in those sapphire depths. "Hey! I was saying that they were wrong about you. You're not all bad."

Baz's breath hitched in his throat at the intensity of Simon's voice. He was genuinely touched; perhaps he had a chance after all.

"Aww, Snow, defending my good name? How valiant of you. Although your act of good will was completely uncalled for seeing as how I don't care what those two think of me in the least bit, but valiant nevertheless. Glad to see you are continuing to live up to your reputation. It would be a shame if you lowered the standards that your precious Mage admires so."

Simon's brow furrowed and his lips thinned into a line: his classic offended face. Crowley, Baz could have smacked himself right then. He hadn't meant to sound surly when he was filled with such tenderness inside, but his breeding just hadn't taught him how to express any such emotions that dared to tread near sensitivity and as a result, snarky was often his default setting.

"He's your Mage too, Baz. In fact, he's all of _Britain's_ Mage." Simon spoke the words slowly like one patiently trying to sense into a toddler.

"Gods, Simon, _I'm bloody well aware._ After seven years at Watford, I do possess sufficient knowledge of magician hierarchy." Baz couldn't help but add an eye roll; he despised being talked down to, it was something his father had done for as long as he could remember and was one of many brutal scars that ran between them. "Besides," he continued, "I have an image to maintain here and defying authority is part of it."

"Why? Do you get a kick out of rule breaking or something?" Simon challenged.

"Not at all," Baz countered with a snarl, "I just don't believe in blind obedience to the law. I question the ones in charge and hold them accountable for their actions. And you're not required to like the answers you get just like you don't _have_ to like the people who provide them. I highly recommended it; you're in dire need of some skepticism to temper that trustworthy nature of yours."

"You're just too suspicious. The Mage has our best interests at heart."

"How can you be so naïve? He keeps merwolves in our moat! Beasts that would eat first and ask questions later if a student fell in. Oh- and he's never around; what in the name of Camelot could he possibly be doing? Clearly not anything about a certain villain who is a 'threat to our blood' or whatnot. The Insidious Humdrum needs to be finished before there are no magicians left in which to do it."

Simon folded his arms across his chest and glared. "Alright, Sherlock. Let's hear your bright ideas. Go ahead- I'm all ears."

"I'm not sure exactly how to end him, or her, or _it,_ I just know that I can't sit by and watch the thing repeatedly target you. We know the Humdrum disintegrates magic so maybe magic isn't the solution to defeating him. Or maybe it is. An ancient spell or ritual or something. Look, Simon, I just don't know, okay? But I do think that the Mage sees you as a pawn, a powerful up-and-coming ally to have on his side in political and magical battles, because it's no secret that even though you claim to struggle with your powers, you have some stronger than the World of Mages has seen in ages. Don't get the wrong idea- I don't think the Mage is evil, I just believe he has his own agenda and if the Humdrum were to- Aleister forbid- actually kill you, well, I think he would see that as a tragic loss of potential."  

"That's a lie! But tell me, Baz," Simon spat the words through a clenched jaw, "what would you see my death as? A golden opportunity to finally have that impeccably clean room you've always dreamed of?"

Baz replied with the first thing that sprang to mind. "I would see it as a tragic loss of person."

"What in the name of hell is that supposed to mean?"

Simon only cursed when pushed to the extremes of emotions. He said that swearing should only be used when a situation deemed it necessary, which meant that Baz had managed to take things from zero to sixty in under five minutes. _Time to throw this train wreck in reverse_ , he thought to himself.

"It means that I would see it as a bright young man's life crushed by a burden thrust upon him since birth. All the sights he had yet to behold, all the people he still had to meet, all the love he had left to spread: an infinity of opportunities gone with a dying breath. You're a kind and gentle soul, Simon, and I couldn't bear to watch you ripped from this world because you were expected to fight the good fight alone."

Even saying this much left Baz feeling raw and open, an exposed wound shying away from a handful of salt. Simon rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, the anger visibly receding from his stance the longer he pondered those words.

"Of course I have to go about it alone," he said. "Only the Mage's heir can defeat the Humdrum and besides- I don't want anyone dying for me. Nobody should pay that price for just trying to help me."

"Neither should you."

"Well I don't plan on it, but I know that the time is coming for me to face him. Maybe not tomorrow, or next week, or even next month, but eventually. It's... destiny or something. There's no avoiding it."

"All right," Baz murmured tracing the plaid pattern on his pants to keep his hands from shaking, "I can understand why you would feel that way, but let me reiterate, you _don't_ have to go against him by yourself. We could face him together, side by side."

"I'm sorry?"

"No, I'm sorry. I am sorry for constantly tormenting you on a daily basis. I'm sorry for being selfish and never considering your feelings. I constantly regret the wasted years between us. But most of all, I'm so deeply sorry for being too proud to admit this beforehand."

Simon was staring at him with an incredulous look on his face, complete with wide eyes and a slack jaw. "Who are you and what have you done with my roommate?" he demanded.

"Nothing. It's still me but perhaps I'm...changing." Baz said after a brief consideration.

"Clearly for the better and, you know what, I like it. I don't know how long this new emotional and communicative personality of yours will last for, but I guess I will just have to make the most of it for the time being."

This was news to Baz. Hell, with their track record this was practically tangible progress. "I'd like it to- I mean I want- I guess I can- Look. Simon. For a long time manipulating people was my expertise. I came here to be the best, not forge friendships (and don't get the judgemental look on your face, I was an impressionable eleven-year-old with an overbearing father, cut a chap some slack). But for some reason you are breaking down my walls, and all I can do is stand amongst the rubble and let you in."

"Then can I help you?" Snow asked timidly, peering up through his dark lashes and making Baz's cardiovascular system go into overdrive. "Because I could do it. Help you to become more open and sensitive, instead of bitter and distant. Even if you only improved the smallest amount, I wouldn't be disappointed because I only want to encourage you: almost anything's better than the prickly, defensive roommate I've been living with. It's mostly on you mate, but the Baz beneath the surface I'm starting to catch glimpses of? Well, _I've always wanted to get to know him._ So, yeah, I'm okay if you still have bad days, even if you have more mood swings than a pubescant playground, but honestly, how could it be anything worse than the entirity of fifth year? I get it, change is hard, and only a fool sticks his head in the gaping jaws of a lion believing that such a wild creature can ever be truly tamed."

"That was enough sap to drench a pancake in," Baz drawled. "Epically dainty, Snow, but I accept that the gilded of head and heart must strive to fill such quotas." He threw in a little smirk for an added touch of irony.

" _Baz!_ "

"Fine," the raven haired boy exhaled in surrender, "but you have to allow me to be an ally against Mr. Hideous Insidious or the deal's off."

"You could get hurt!"

"Of course I could; that's life. It's filled with risks. And your- this- is one I'm willing to take. So let me repeat, do we have a deal or not?"

Simon chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully, then locked gazes with Baz. "Who could refuse an offer that forces you to actually be nice?" he quipped good-naturedly. "To make it official let's shake on it."

He stuck out a hand and Baz clasped it, wondering if such a symbolic act could very well alter their course.

 

 

 


	8. A Failure In Hindsight- Simon's POV

If there was one thing Simon could attribute to his and Baz's agreement it was this: a considerable less amount of gloom. There really was someting to be said about coming home, all worn out from a long day of suffering through spellwork, to not find your roommate sulking again or worked up in yet another snit. Rather to the contrary, in the ensuing weeks since their pact, Baz seemed to have reached a different level, filling their room with a quiet prescense instead of a mounting pressure. And it kind of filled Simon with wonder; this shifting dynamic of theirs. All the nights he had spent wishing for a ceasefire and he'd been granted a truce. Well, if he didn't know better, it was almost enough to make him believe in miracles.

A chill breeze rushed through the grounds and ruffled Simon's hair, reminding him that the weather was about to accomadate his favorite season. As he continued his walk, he couldn't help but take in the transitioning surroundings. During the time since his and Baz's decision, the splendid autumn foliage had faded like a firework, erupting in a spectacular burst of color before receding into the empty space of winter's arrival, both leaving only an imprint on the mind's eye. And as the first snowflakes began to arrive, so did the chinks in Baz's armor. All ready, Simon had learned more about him than he had in the entirity of six years. At first it had been slow, but then, incredibly, it was like he had been granted access to a whole new person. An outer casing had been cast off and by Merlin, he was in awe.

Or maybe Simon hadn't been paying attention until now. For instance, he had known that blue was Baz's favorite color but he had never asked why. Until recently, anyway. When he finally did ask, on another late night where they stayed up conversing until exhaustion would claim it's first victim (usually Simon), Baz's response was that it reminded him of chances and possibilities, of a perfect summer's sky, and of that peaceful feeling you get when it's raining in exactly the right way. But for some reason, the way he said it made Simon think that those might not be his only reasons. Like _Simon_ might be one. (Which was ridiculous; people _were not_ explanations for colors, he was obviously so tired that he had been making up connections where there were none. Again.)

And as Simon made another circuit around Watford, he sank deeper into his reverie. The memories came crashing over him, one after the another, like the steady rhythm of waves against a shoreline. Baz teasing him over the fact that he would always find Simon's _Aero_ bars no matter where he hid them, even a place as inconvenient as the light fixture. (It had been a rather poorly thought out choice, what with chocolate stashed right next to a source of heat and all, but it probably wouldn't be his last...sticky situation.) Baz practically brimming over with enthusiasm when he talked about reading, growing increasingly more animated as he told Simon all about his favorite books. Baz wondering about Simon's life at the orphanage and in turn, sharing pieces of his own past with a little prodding. Not very much and certainly not anywhere near enough to paint a clear picture, but enough to give Simon the idea that he  _very_ much didn't care for Tyrannus Basilton Pitch II. Baz letting it slip that he knew how to play the piano and, at first, refusing to show off his skills, but eventually giving in to Simon's pleas. (All the while insisting that he wasn't anything special to hear, but Simon thought he was brilliant. He played such intricate, flowing melodies that they caused Simon to close his eyes just to listen better, because not to was an insult to the craft. But when he managed to gather the strength to crack his lids open, what he saw was a musician at home in his element; deft fingers gliding over the keys, swaying in time with the music. Crowley, it was beautiful.) Baz with all of his layers and mysteries, making Simon feel dull in comparison. Baz, the reason he was always tired lately. _Baz, Baz, Baz._ His mind was running in loops, with his memories stuck on repeat. What the heck was happening to him?

Simon frowned and headed back into the castle. His cheeks were stinging a bit from the cold, and seeing as how he had forgotten a scarf, there was no sense in prolonging his walk. But when classes were out, there weren't many places he could go where people wouldn't treat him like a specimen, even after six years. Well, that wasn't necessarily true, his room was still an option, but the person his thoughts revolved around lately would be there, and it was a tad unsettling how much of a recluse Simon was becoming and just how little he cared. Also, it worried him that things might revert back to their original state at a moments notice, like he and Baz might finally run out of things to say and this bliss would reveal itself to be a mirage.

With a start of amusement, he realized that he sounded like Penny. Smart, determined, hyper-analytical Pen was finally starting to rub off on him. Well, definitely not the smart part, but still. Which reminded him, he really needed to talk to her about this growing... concern... of hers. Honestly, he probably should've years ago. Should've been a better friend, should've dared to cross the invisible line and _go there_ already. If Simon was truthful with himself, he was fairly positive that Penelope had an anxiety disorder of some sort. Not that she had confirmed it (probably because he had never asked), but it was the little things that only a best friend could pick up on that had him speculating. The way she joked with him about her worrisome nature, with the kind of offhand air one has when they are trying to deflect the truth, and the way she would stiffen, just a small tensing in her shoulders, when an immature classmate made a jab at mental illness.  

But, per usual, Simon was great at avoiding important matters. He didn't want to broach this subject because he didn't care if Penny had anxiety issues or not. What mattered to him was the kind, freckled girl he couldn't imagine life without. The tiny ball of energy with her love of learning, her plans on giving back, the way she just dished out unwarranted advice like it was her God given right. If he felt sorry for her, which was awfully rare, it was because he wanted the very best for her, not because of her problem. And most of all, Simon didn't want her to feel like he'd reduced her to just that: something in need of fixing.

But maybe Pen felt like she was alone or trapped, maybe she _had_ to care about it, and perhaps Simon should, too. Come heck or high water, they were in it together and it was time to face the facts; _he had never asked her if she could swim._ The very least he could do was throw her a life line. After all, it would be nice to see less ring twisting and more smiling. Next sitting room chat, it was going to be just him and Penny, having a long overdue heart to heart.

Simon came to an abrupt halt smack in the middle of one of his least favorite rooms at Watford. _It was this cursed chamber again._ While he was lost in thought his feet had automatically been carrying him towards his room. This desired destination, his own forbidden fruit, was constantly on his mind of late. It was gnawing at his thoughts, tearing at his edges and filling him with a new purpose. The most troubling part however, was how crestfallen he always was if he gave in to his temptation just to find out Baz wasn't, well, home. Disappointment would pool in his heart only to be replaced by thoughts of denial towards his feelings, yet mere seconds later be pushed back under by a... a craving... to find Baz like some obsessed stalker. Aleister almighty, the intensity of these feelings scared him.

But the longer he stared at he boys' floor door, the angrier he got. Why shouldn't he go back to his room, even if the only reason he wanted to be there happened to have lovely slate colored eyes? So what, it was still _his_ room. And besides, since he and Baz had been cast together, maybe they were supposed to do more than just look out for each other. Maybe they were supposed to finally be able to enjoy each other's company like most roommates. He shouldn't be fighting this; the Crucible was always right.

With his mind made up, Simon set across the room, his attention so focused solely on that door and what lay beyond, that it took him a few moments to realize that someone was shrilly repeating his name. He sighed deeply and closed his eyes. _This room is an absolute abomination; one simply cannot go through it without being noticed._ And that's all he wanted, really, to make it to relative peace without being asked for an autograph by yet another star-struck first year or bombarded with intrusive questions by giggling thirteen-year-old girls who wore too much mascara. It felt like such an invasion of privacy that he ought to start charging and use the proceeds to fund an alternate entrance, preferably in the form of a very narrow staircase.

Perched on a fat, velvet couch sat Agatha, with her platinum tresses done up in a complicated looking braid. She was beckoning to him distractedly, eyes darting about the room before settling back on his face with a small pout. Simon swept a hand through his hair and settled down next to her, figuring that it would probably be rude not to. Agatha frowned, seeming to pick up on his reluctance, so he quickly backtracked with a smile because someone like Aggie did not frown often.

"Long time, no see, Simon." she greeted.

"That's not true," he answered with a frown of his own, "you see me in class everyday."

She rolled her eyes. "I was exaggerating. But really, darling, what have you been up to that has kept you so busy that you've missed out on two weeks with me and Penelope? I even made tea for yesterday's sitting room time!"

"Earl Grey?"

"Obviously. And Penelope made biscuits and an absolutely splendid marmalade to-" she cut off abruptly and narrowed her eyes. "Do not duck the question, Simon."

But she didn't have the power she used to hold over him anymore. She could no longer make him dissolve with just one dewy look. It was- it was strength, it was totally liberating. Suddenly he didn't want to justify his actions anymore.

"It doesn't matter what I've been doing and I'm not going to explain myself either. What matters is that I have been ignoring my old friends and for that I'm sorry."

"There's no need to become defensive; I was just concerned. Penelope and I had taken to thinking that you had been kidnapped by Selkies again."

"Sure. The kind that _return me to class everyday_? Because you should be concerned; those ones are extra vicious, subjecting me to school when I could be comfortably chained up in an underground sea cavern instead. Well, I suppose they call them the good old days for a reason," Simon said with so much sarcasm that Baz would have been proud.

Agatha sighed, clearly annoyed. "Again with the exaggerating. The last time you were kidnapped the Mage was worked up in a considerable tizzy, but if I don't feel so much as a ripple in the space-time continuum, then I know you're alright. I was literally only curious as to what's been going on in your life seeing as how we never talk anymore, but since you're being so rude, you can just keep your important little secrets."

"I'm not being rude! I can't explain it because- because I don't even understand what is going on myself. There you have it; it's complicated. And," Simon rushed to add, "I certainly don't want to talk about it anymore. Let's get to the real reason you called me over, because it sure seemed like you had something else to say other than the fact that I've been AWOL lately."

For a heartbeat, Simon thought that she wasn't going to let this go, that she was going to insist on dragging this corpse of a conversation out until he would want to bury himself out of total desperation. So it was with relief that he noted Agatha's lip curl in disgust as she rolled her eyes.

"Touchy as ever, I see. The _real reason_ I decided to mar my day with your presence was to give you your Christmas gift before term lets out. Here, take it." she said, placing a small box wrapped in a shimmering green foil onto Simon's outstretched hands. "And don't forget you have to open it on-"

"Winter's Solstice, I know."

Agatha's family was slightly odd in the fact that they celebrated Christmas on the winter solstice, a tradition Aggie said had been in her family for generations and, accordingly, just seemed normal to her. They still exchanged presents and did all the other holiday activities, just a few days early. Or so he'd been told. Really, he mused, it wasn't that odd, just quirky like he supposed most families were.

"What day is that this year?" he asked to cover the awkward silence that had blossomed in the wake of the green gift.

"December twenty-first," Agatha said softly. "And it's okay, Simon. I promise."

"No, it's not. Not anymore. I- I have to go now," he mumbled, getting up and trying to will his growing blush away. "But thank you and I promise to open it on...December twenty first. Have a nice holiday!" Like a flash, Simon was out of the room and down his own hallway, hands trembling slightly.

It was so...awful to not have anything to give in response. Truly, horribly, awful. He wanted to participate and give his friends a token of his gratitude, but he couldn't even afford a ribbon to tie around a hypothetical present. He was poor, not a dollar to his name, but, he reminded himself, what orphan wasn't? Still, there were years when he wished he could give Penelope something he already had, but he had come to Watford with just the clothes on his back (which would do her no good) and a single red ball as his only earthly possessions. Crowley, he couldn't even make an original do-it-yourself kind of gift. He couldn't draw or write, he wasn't very musically inclined like Baz and he especially didn't trust his spell work to not blow up in somebody's face. Heck, he just wasn't very talented at all. It seemed he was only good at sword fighting and antagonizing roommates, but its not like he could say 'Merry Christmas, Agatha! Care to duel?' He mostly enjoyed this time of year for the snow, which was thankfully free. Anything otherwise would have been too ironic, even for him.

Simon entered his room and felt the tightness in his chest relax. Baz was sitting on his own bed, thoroughly engrossed in _Great Expectations_ by Some Old Dead Guy. A rueful smile played on Simon's lips as he watched a small crease make it's way between Baz's eyebrows; anyone could tell that he hated the book and only continued in respect of maintaining his motto to never leave a story unfinished. It was typical Baz behavior on full display, but Simon wouldn't have dreamed of sharing this observation when he knew that he was often equally mulish. Instead, he walked over to his bed and carefully set aside Agatha's gift, before gratefully flinging himself onto the yielding mattress.

 

 

***

 

 

 "Snow!"

Simon's eyes snapped open at approximately the same time that Baz came crashing down next to him on the bed.

"Oh, good. You're awake! I was beginning to think you were comatose."

Simon yawned and tried to process his surroundings. "Certainly not with you yelling in my ear and violating my personal space." This only served to earn him a kick in the shins as a response, and Baz took advantage of the resulting recoil to push Simon's legs out of the way, effectively creating more space for himself.

"You're a git, you know that? Why did you have to go waking me up?" Simon grumbled.

Baz flashed him an impish grin. "You get cranky when you oversleep."

"It's nine 'o clock in the evening! That's not oversleeping, that's called turning in early!"

"Listen to yourself, already acting defensive. You should be thanking me for preventing you from getting too much rest. Studies say that makes you just as irritable as under sleeping."

"Well, I'd say that I'm thoroughly irritated as is," Simon replied, knocking his shoulder into Baz's.

" _That is_ what I strive for." Baz said sliding closer, leaning his back against the wall and dangling one leg over the side of the bed.

"No, that's not it at all... You woke me up just to talk, didn't you?" Simon teased, "I never knew you were that selfish, Pitch."

"You don't know the half of it," Baz said wistfully, before his eyes lit upon the tiny green package on Simon's desk. "What is that?"

"Oh, that's just Agatha's Christmas present to me."

"Aren't you going to open it? You can always say that you waited until the twenty-fifth."

"Actually, she made me promise that I would open it on the Winter Solstice."

The corner of Baz's mouth pulled down. "That's strange."

"I don't know, she says her family has always broken tradition when it comes to holidays," Simon replied with a shrug. "To each their own, I suppose."

"It just seems kind of...pagan I guess."

Simon didn't know what to say to that so he just responded with a truth that had been growing steadily louder with each passing day. "I wish you didn't have to leave."

"And where exactly am I going, Snow?" Baz said laughing softly.

"Home. Over Christmas break. I just wish you could stay."

Baz was quiet for a moment before looking out the window. "Me too, Snow, me too."

A silence ensued between them but Simon didn't mind. It was natural and soft: the friend kind, the kind where you didn't need words to be heard. As sleep tugged at Simon's eyes once more, Baz broke the still, his own voice drowsy and slow. "Do you ever think about after?"

"After what?"

"School. Post-Watford."

"I-no. Nobody has ever asked me what I want to do when I grow up. I mean, what's it even matter? If I don't stop the Humdrum, nobody has a future. I guess it is just a little hard to see past that."

"Simon," Baz whispered, "then just pretend. For me."

"I...alright." Maybe it was the time of night, or maybe it had something to do with the compelling urge he had to rest his head on Baz's shoulder, that did him in. "If I could, I think I would stay here at Watford. Somehow. It's my home; I can't imagine a life apart from it. I mean, I know I'm not smart enough to be a teacher, but perhaps I could be the fencing instructor. Heck, I wouldn't mind janitor if it meant that I always had a place here."

Baz tilted his head forward, storm-grey eyes at full intensity despite the dark circles below. "What about Mage?"

"I don't know, sounds like an awful lot of responsibility." Simon said, feeling himself blush. The only way that Watford got a new Mage was if the current one died. (Or resigned, but that was extremely rare.)

The other boy smirked. "I think you could handle it. In fact, I think you would be great at it. You're humble, so I suppose I could see you interacting with the kids and making sure that none of them ever felt like you did at that wretched orphanage. I bet you would even go down in history as the Golden Mage."

The said future Mage ducked his face into his hands to cover up his well and truly burning cheeks. "That's very flattering but there's just so much between that and the here and now to worry about. But as long as we're doing this, what would you do with all your tomorrows?"

"What I want and what is expected of me are two completely different things. I guess we are quite similar in that way." Baz yawned before continuing on. "My parents think I should join the Board of Magical Monitoring and head up the Department of Paranormal Activities or something similar like that, but I don't want to. A lifetime of reassuring humans that ghosts, vampires and magic isn't real? No thanks, I am many things but a hypocrite isn't one. Besides, they only want me to do it for the prestige and money that comes with that title, not any of the 'we have your best interests at heart' bullshit. They want me to be the glory-getter for the Pitch family name but they're in for a surprise; I'm not gonna do it." He gave a harsh laugh that bordered on hysterical before continuing on. "And you know what the ghastly part of this whole mess is? If they dared to ask me what I wanted to do instead, I wouldn't have an answer. I don't know, Snow, I just don't know anymore, and I'm terrified."

Simon didn't know much, but he could recognize unfairly great expectations, partly do to, and in spite of, having a few of his own. It made his head hurt. They were just so _young._ "You could be a musician. Just you and your piano, living off the generous tips of strangers in a train station, biding your time until you make it big."

"Sure. Because my  _grand piano_ is going to blend in so well at King's Cross."

"Point, but imagine this; it could be your _statement._ Every artist needs a statement to stand out." Simon caught the look of utter disgust on Baz's face and laughed. "Oh my, I see that I read too deeply into that whole rebellious vibe you were giving off."

"No, I'm offended that you think I would lose all sense of good taste in my quest for independence. Honestly, it's as if you know nothing about me." he mocked.

"Deepest apologies, good sir, I do hope you'll forgive the transgressions of such a common bloke. It's shameful that someone of your pedigree should endure _such_ hardships, but it looks like they let just anyone into this fine academy of magicks these days. Chin up, my lord, thou shalt endure!" Simon broke off in a fit of giggles even though he knew he hadn't been that funny. _Just peachy,_ he thought, _now I'm slap-happy._ That tended to happen when he got really tired. In fact, he wondered if he would act like this whenever he got drunk for the first time.

Baz blinked sleepily, a lopsided grin edging it's way onto his face. "You are such a dork sometimes. Now that I think about it, that might be why I keep you around."

"And here I thought it was for my broad shoulders and strong sense of moral justice."

"Nah, those are just the perks of having an archetype for a roommate."

_Archetype...What in the name of Morgan Le Fey was an archetype? And more importantly, was that supposed to be a compliment or an insult?_

A half-hearted sigh issued from the other magician. "I suggest paying closer attention in English, Snow, lest I wind up tutoring you again."

Right. Well, Baz had been ten times better than that rotten teacher, what with managing to pull Simon's sixth year marks up to passing and all. Crowley, he probably could have brought them up even farther if Simon just would have had more patience for syntax and grammar drills. And gods, _poetry._ Nice stuff, but how anyone could manage to write like that was beyond him. Shakespeare he was not.

Like dominoes falling into place, a brilliant- nay genius- idea penetrated his fuzzy mind. "I have it! Baz, you would make a great teacher!"

"What?" Baz exclaimed, eyes flicking open. "Since I tend to detest the idea of people in general, I am forced to come to the conclusion that you, sir, are delusional."

"Come off it! You love reading and English is your favorite class, so why not defy your parents and follow your passion at the same time?"

"Me? An English teacher?" His voice spiked with disbelief.

"Why not? You like it and you even got somebody as dense as me to learn. I can see it clear as day; you grading papers, recommending books to eager pupils, leading lively discussions about the importance of reading classics in a modern age. No boring lectures from you, that's for sure." Simon continued on eagerly, "I might wind up the 'Golden Mage' but you would be the students' favorite, Professor Pitch. Look at that: alliteration. It's meant to be."

Baz slipped his tie off and tossed it on the floor. "I was wrong; you're not delusional. You're a dreamer and that's far worse."

"No, I'm right is what I am. Think about it, okay?"

"Hmmm...I suppose. You do realize that we would end up stuck together at Watford after all the years of claiming our hatred for the other?" (He was slurring words now; tired was it's own form of drunk.)

"It's not like we would still be roommates. Besides, can't you tell that I don't hate you and I don't think I ever have? That I want you to be a part of my life?" Saying that scared Simon, scared him a lot, and he didn't understand why. "Bet you didn't know _I_ could be that selfish, did you, Pitch?"

But soft sighs greeted him in response instead of an answer; Baz had fallen asleep with his head propped up in his hands. Simon doubted that Baz had even heard him say that last bit. He got up carefully, so as not to disturb the dozing wizard, and found two extra blankets. He gently, albeit awkwardly, placed one around Baz's shoulders before curling up in the other.

A sorrow settled over him, or perhaps more accurately, a melancholy. Tomorrow would bring reality, stark and cruel, a sharp little thorn in his side. It would bring lengthy assignments to do over holiday and secret dorm room parties to avoid doing them. It would bring cranky teachers and excitable students, both eagerly ticking off the dwindling days until freedom. But most of all, it would mean suitcases and hastily folded clothes, and a soon to be empty castle.

For now though, Simon was content to deny that impeding loneliness and instead breathe in the apple-and-musk scent that was the boy beside him. He was content to let his heartbeat slow and his eyes close. And it was with perfect serenity that he let himself be lulled to sleep by the steady rhythm of another body beside his own.

 

 


	9. Overcoming Inertia- Baz's POV

The primary thing that Baz was aware of when he first woke up was a jarring pain in his left arm accompanied by an overall stiffness. After a brief moment of disorientation, it wasn't hard to see why. The discomfort in his arm was due to Simon lying directly on it and, to be quite honest, all over the rest of him as well.

Simon's head was tucked in the curve of Baz's shoulder, soft locks just barely brushing his cheek, and he had one arm flung across Baz's chest. There was a blanket twisted around one of his own legs, and maybe Simon's too, but it was difficult to tell when they were such a tangle of limbs. This felt so right, so warm and tangible, so _complete,_ that if there was a heaven, Baz hoped it was something like this.

He shifted a little, attempting to free his arm, and Simon stirred, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like archetype before burying his face into Baz's neck, breath tingling against the skin there. Needless to say, Baz stopped trying to move.

He drifted in and out of sleep, the grey light emphasizing his muddled state of half-awake and the disjointed thoughts that accompanied it. His mind flitted over having to return to the horrors of home one moment, and the next, over how he had actually fallen asleep last night before Simon did. Hadn't Simon been saying something? Something about hate and not being roommates? _Bollocks. How rude of himself not to remember._ It was damned ironic, too, seeing as how Baz was practically a fucking _insomniac._ Well, self diagnosed, but still, it was like he just couldn't get his brain to shut off when he was trying to go to sleep. Almost every night, he would lie awake for hour after bloody hour, going out of his mind, eyes burning, thoughts racing, until he would pass out from sheer exhaustion. It could get to be a little miserable sometimes, but at least there didn't seem to be any serious effects on his health. Unless you counted general grumpiness, but hey, sleep deprivation could be a bitch.

Baz waited until the room was bathed in sunshine before waking Simon. He turned his face into Simon's- nose in hair, mouth against temple- and tried to nudge him awake, but because of the awkward angle, it ended up more like a one-sided nuzzling than anything. It did the trick though; he felt the other boy's fingers uncurl against his chest and there was a small exclamation (an appropriate reaction to finding yourself snuggled up against someone whom you definitely _did not_ go to sleep tucked next to the previous night), before Simon lifted his head to catch Baz's gaze, blue eyes round with shock. Simon seemed to be searching for a cue from him on how to react.

Baz thought about getting up and pretending that nothing had happened, but that appealed to him about as much as catching a case of Cattleya Leprosy. Instead he moved his pained arm to better fit around Simon's shoulders and spoke in what he hoped was a soothing voice. "Hey, it's okay. I don't mind, if that's what you're worried about."

"I-I don't-"

"Relax, Snow. I'm not going to bite your head off. In fact, it's kind of nice, so if you would kindly lie back down again I would be much obliged."

"I forbid you from being pretentious before I am fully awake." Simon said with a yawn, before giving in and lying his head right above Baz's heart, an appropriate as well as symbolic move that lost no meaning on the vampire.

"Simon! I'm impressed! Where did you overhear that word?"

"Very funny, you git. I'll have you know that Penny's been calling you 'that pretentious Pitch' for years."

"No bother, it is hardly true."

Simon said something along the lines of 'interesting definition of hardly' and Baz went to swat the back of his head in reply, but then the strangest thing happened. Somehow, of its own accord, his hand didn't leave, but rather ended up playing with that famous golden hair, fingers running through the strands. He felt Simon stiffen and panicky thoughts ran through his mind. _My feelings must be obvious; shame on me for wanting too much, too soon._ Now he might have gone and wrecked everything. But he had worried for naught. Simon relaxed again, even seeming to lean into the touch a bit, and Baz was left more confused than ever. Did Simon realize that normal friends just didn't _do_ this kind of stuff? Like, bloody hell, breakfast was probably over by now and neither of them had even changed out of yesterday's clothes.

However, these thoughts flew right out of his head when his fingers skimmed over Simon's ear and found _that one curl._ Not that all of Simon's waves weren't nice, but this one in particular drove him crazy. It had taunted him for years, begging to be touched. He let it slip between his digits before withdrawing his hand altogether. To think, he had once used to pride himself on self-control and now one boy, one marvelous short-sighted boy, was causing him to throw his discipline straight out the window.

Just then, a great ringing filled the room and both boys flinched.

"It looks like the day is underway." Simon said, and was that a touch of reluctance Baz detected in his voice?

"I suppose it is, Snow."

"We could probably make it to class on time if we hurry."

Baz feigned indifference. "Hmmm...Except I kind of don't feel like moving right now."

"Criminey's Caravan; me neither."

"Are you feeling alright?" Baz said, placing his hand on Simon's forehead as if checking for a temperature. "Because that was dangerously close to a swear."

"It's funny now that you should mention it, but I've never been better."

That answer did funny things to Baz's heart, and he hoped that Simon couldn't feel it stutter beneath his head.

"Maybe it's best if we did go, though. They're bound to notice if we're both gone."

Simon giggled, the type of laugh that other people would quiet down to hear better, and Baz had a feeling there would never be a time when he didn't stop to listen.

"How is that amusing?"

"I'm not exactly sure. Maybe it's surprising that for someone who loves to skip, you actually want to- and I quote- 'submit to the blasted patriarchy and their infernal concept that people can only learn behind a two by two desk.' Or maybe it's just because your voice is all rumbly when you talk right now."

Baz was miffed but happily so. "Well, your ear is practically pressed against my voice box."

"It is not. You wouldn't be breathing too well if that were the case."

"Probably because your head is like a bowling ball, Snow."

"I swear, you are the most dramatic person I know," he said, tilting his head to meet Baz's eyes.

"Takes one to know one," the vampire mocked.

"Can't argue with that, can I?"

And in that moment Baz wanted to kiss Simon's hair, his jaw, his perfect lips, cover every inch of skin with a tender gesture. He wanted to feel Simon's body beneath his own and test the limits of that blush. But he couldn't, not now, not yet, so he sat up before Simon noticed that he didn't want to keep his hands to himself anymore, and hated himself all the while for taking two steps back every time he took one leap forward.

Much to his surprise, however, Simon protested this separation by leaning his head against Baz's shoulder. He couldn't help but think that this was much safer, leaning together and looking out the window like an elderly couple that watched the seasons change just to pass the time. There was a little spider web stretching over the right pane, and beyond that there was a light dusting of snow on the trees outside. He couldn't help but wish that it could always be like this. Someday, assuming he could ever work up the courage to ask Simon to marry him, maybe they could live in a little cottage in the woods, and wake up everyday to such beautiful stillness. Unless, of course, Simon didn't want to. Baz would follow him anywhere, even to a place as uninviting as a city.

Simon spoke up first, and quietly, too, like he was afraid to break the peace they shared. "What is your favorite type of food? Besides your apple addiction of course."

_Blood._ "Fish and chips."

"Fish and chips!? Tyrannus Basilton Pitch III, who has probably tasted such delicacies as caviar, enjoys a commoner's meal above all others?"

"Yes, Snow, and while I'm positively tickled to see that you can remember my full name, there is no need to be rude. It just so happens that my parents viewed it as such and, fittingly, never let me have it. But accordingly, I love it and not just to spite them, either; the batter they fry the fish in might as well be ambrosia. Besides, caviar is disgusting. You?"

Simon leaned over and picked up one of the previous night's blankets, a warm and thick one that was patterned with the green-and-purple Watford plaid. He wound it carefully around both of them before placing his head back in its preferred spot. "I'd have to say I like lamb the best, probably since we only had it once a year for Christmas at the orphanage. It was a rare treat since it's so expensive. Anyway, if you really love fish and chips so much, I'll have to take you by The Ancient Mariner sometime. They have the best deep fried cod in all the pubs in England, promise."

"How exactly is an orphan frequenting pubs?"

 "Well, The Ancient Mariner is open to all members of the public, which is to say that it's a touch shady. Anyway, the orphanage never did keep good tabs on us at night."

"Brilliant, who would have thought that Simon Oliver Snow, Mage's Heir and resident do-gooder, would have such a sketchy past?"

"Shut it. It wasn't that dangerous; the barkeep, Andy, kept most of the riff-raff out."

"That's what they all say," Baz sang, with a teasing lilt in his voice. "My turn now. What's your favorite...memory?"

"Guess."

"That's not fair. I don't know you well enough; besides, _I_ was asking _you._ "

Simon laughed and grabbed Baz's hand, threading their fingers together. "Well, too bad, Pitch. I want to hear what you think I value the most, first."

Baz stopped and thought it over carefully, turning each idea over in his mind like stones in a creek bed. Simon valued friends and loyalty, justice and truth, magic and hope. All noble things that the human world had never offered him. So it was with confidence that he said, "Your favorite memory is the day that Miss Possibelf came to Lancashire and told you that you were a magician."

"Actually, it was the Mage," Simon said, brushing his thumb absently along Baz's knuckles. "And no, that's not my favorite memory. The most significant thing that sticks out in my mind is my first day here. You see, at first I _was_ enthralled to learn that magic was real. It was more than I'd ever dreamed of happening; an escape from my dismal future. But as the summer wore on, I began to think it might have been a joke...or a... a hallucination of some sort. I thought I had imagined it, some man coming to tell me that my entire life was going to change on September 1st. Ridiculous. So I returned to reality- where it was evident that no one was ever going to adopt me. You see, once you lose your baby cuteness, you don't stand a chance in the system. But, obviously, September came and the rest, as they say, is history..." he trailed off with an empty sigh.

"Go on," Baz prompted. "What about your first day made it so special? If I remember correctly, you were less than thrilled to meet your roommate."

"Yeah, well, animal rights activists could have had a field day with eleven-year-old Basilton. Anyway, it's just that the first day here was _real._ I could see the castle with my own eyes, I could hear the students reciting spells, I could _taste_ the magic in the air, and it was like nothing I'd ever known before. It wasn't another promise that an adult wasn't going to keep. It was just...the beginning, plain and simple." He gave an awkward cough like it pained him to share this information.

"There's nothing plain-or even simple-about beginnings, Snow. Sometimes they're even messier than endings."

"Sounds like someone is speaking from experience."

"Perhaps, but don't we all?" he said giving Simon's hand a squeeze. "Favorite superpower now."

They went on like this for some time, in what would later be fondly referred to as the 'favorite game.' It was their way of compensating for years of stony anger, but it was more than that. It was a way to start anew, to work from the ground up, figuring out who the other was, cell by cell, and years from now, it would become a habit, something to fall back on in times of want. Like when Baz turned twenty and they got drunk in the woods, and told each other their favorite things about the other, in the sloppy and honest way that only two people who really love each other can. Or the time when they took a trip to Germany, and it turned out that Baz didn't know the language as well as he thought he had, and they ended up lost in the countryside, and Simon ended up mad, but then Baz finally told Simon his favorite memory: the day he said 'yes', and they ended up kissing for so long that it didn't matter where they were so long as they had each other.

But the future was not today and their story was just beginning. There was still Agatha to deal with, the Insidious Humdrum to defeat, and eighth year to get through. There was still college and love and life to learn, and it wouldn't always flow smoothly or neatly. But they would make it, together, just as we all know that more often than not, beginnings can be awfully messy.

 


End file.
